Entertainers Have Your Back
by janey1097
Summary: Due to angry fans, the producer of TDA decides to fix all the unresolved fights from last season. Enter Chris McClain, who will 'patch up their broken hearts'...if he can finish that phrase with a straight face.
1. Taking Initiative

**(A.N.) This most definitely has ****not**** been what I've been working on for so long, this is just something for fun. (Yay, mediocrity!) I'm might be merging into a Soul Eater fic soon enough, though…**

** Okay, in this 'reality' Total Drama Action ended with everyone hating each other. Yup. Not everybody I guess, but for example, Duncan and Courtney stayed broken up, and...well, that's the main difference. Leshawna still hates Beth, Gwen and Trent are still apart, so and so forth.**

** Enjoy, read, and review, if you wish. I'd say 'if you dare', but I'd rather not scare you off.**

"This…this is a _disaster_."

The alarming statement was said by a man with a handlebar mustache and a remarkably shiny bald head.

This man was in charge of the conference meeting going on. The folks behind Total Drama Island were gathered, to discuss the latest fiasco. Total Drama Action had ended in _shambles_. All of the couples remained broken up—and many friendships, too. So many angry letters had been sent in, something had to be done—or ratings would plummet faster than _American Idol's_.

Thanks to the room they were in, it looked as if they were plotting how to take over the world. The men and women who were present sat around a metallic table, while a single light fixture gave the room an eerie look. On one side of the room was a long, rectangular window that gave a view to some undisclosed location. (If you must know, there were buildings and trees and probably a cloud or two in the sky.)

Chris McClain was in attendance, and he leaned over to the man next to him.

"Hey," Chris whispered, in such a loud tone that he might as well have not whispered at all. "Hey, who _is_ that guy?" He nodded towards the bald man sitting at the head of the table.

"It's the new producer," the suited man replied.

"What happened to the old one?"

"Well," replied the other, "after the season finale he was…kidnapped by rabid Duncan-and-Courtney fans. He was held hostage in…" he shuddered. "In _Wisconsin_."

"And?" questioned Chris.

"Last we heard he became a cheese-head. He's a _Packers_ fan now, for God's sake!" He added, because football humor is still funny during off-season. Really. "To prevent something like _that_ from happening again, we have to be very vague with our location, now. All we're allowed to say is that we're somewhere in Canada."

Chris frowned, looking a little wary. "Are you sure that's not just because of the author's lazine--"

"Chris McClain!" The producer shouted, standing up in a dramatic fashion.

"_Oh my God it's a talking mustache!_" Chris exclaimed, horrified.

The producer crossed his arms, looking mildly insulted. "Have some more respect for the producer, Mr. McClain."

"I thought," Chris complained, "you were a guy from a barbershop quartet."

"I'm the _producer_!" Aforementioned producer gritted out, and then added, sniveling, "_that_ dream died long ago…"

"Can we call you something besides 'the producer'?" One worker asked. "I feel like we're starting a potential drinking game…"

"Fine," said the producer (_take a shot!_). "You can call me Napoleon."

"That explains so much…" Chris muttered under his breath. Napoleon appraised the men and women sitting with him, and sighed, massaging his forehead.

"If we don't find a way to get this sorted out, I'm afraid we might lose our viewers. People seem to want something light-hearted, and they think that our contestants might get bloodthirsty at the start of next season."

"They're teens," a woman chuckled, raising an eyebrow at Napoleon. "How much damage can they cause?"

"Never underestimate the strength of teenage angst," Chris warned.

"Well, there were some friendships kept at the end," someone pointed out, but another rebutted with:

"I think they're outnumbered by the rivalries."

"Well," suggested an employee, "what if we put them in a less stressful environment?" The others stared at him. After a long, awkward silence, the employee wheeled himself out of the room and far away.

"Thank God he's gone," Napoleon muttered. "OK, someone smarter, please."

"A nicer host?" A fellow named Benny suggested, leering at Chris with discontent.

"_No way_! _That's dumb! Chris McClain is hot_!" Chris said in a girly, higher voice. Dropping down to his normal voice he announced, "I agree with her."

"Chris," Benny remarked, dryly. "No one's gonna fall for--"

"I agree with the nice lady too!" Napoleon announced clasping his hands together. "Chris McClain stays!" Chris grinned, childishly pumping a fist in the air.

"Well, of course," a different worker agreed. "Chris isn't the problem, after all. It's the contestants. We have to make them respect each other more…and once they do, then it can all fall apart during the season. So there's still drama, we just aren't starting out with it again. It'll have the charm of the first season!"

"That sounds like a good idea," Napoleon mused, "but how would we do that?"

Ideas were thrown around, scattering over the room like bugs skimming over water. (_Holy misplaced poetic phrase, Batman!_) Only one stood out:

"Therapy!" blurted out someone from outside the room, in the hallway. "I had shock therapy, and now I'm only scarred _physically_, instead of mentally!"

"Did the best idea just come from our janitor?" Napoleon questioned. "Hm…maybe there's something to be learned by _Good Will Hunting_…"

"Hey," Chris interrupted, sticking his arm up and waving it around to get Napoleon's attention. "While you're getting a lovely Mr. Rogers' kernel of a moral, I have to ask…who's gonna be in charge of the 'therapy'?"

"Why were there quotation marks around therapy?" Benny wondered, but everyone ignored him.

"You and Chef will do," Napoleon replied, dismissively. "Some team-building exercises, some time to sit around in circles and chat…it should do some good!"

"A job like that is not in my contract!" Chris pointed out, while Karma walked up, slapped him in the face, and kindly walked away.

"Well, now it is."

"You can't change it like that though," Chris groaned, clearly not in the mood to bother with the TDI teenagers even longer. "That's against the rules."

"_Screw the rules, I have money_!"

Not sure how to reply, Chris again leaned over to the man he had been talking with earlier. "Did we just end this with a reference to an abridged series?"

"I…I believe so."

Chris leaned back.

"Well. I see this is off to a fantastic start."


	2. The Trust Fall

** (A.N.) Yes, this was renamed. Previously it was "Total Drama Therapy". Hopefully this doesn't cause too much confusion.**

** Anyways, many thanks and gratification for the positive reviews! I love feedback as much as I love unnecessarily bolding my author notes. Moving on…**

** In this chapter, the contestants arrive, they receive the dreaded 'roommate' list, and they get their first 'exercise' with Chris…**

---

Chris stood on a vacant lot, while harsh light glared down onto the surroundings. Somewhere in the horizon, twenty-two contestants trudged their way forwards. Just a few days ago, they had received a letter beckoning them down here, and a not-so-gentle reminder that they were, essentially, shackled by their contract.

As soon as Chris was in earshot, the complaining began:

"Therapy hasn't worked for me so far…"

"I am sick of seeing these people!"

"You can't make me go to therapy! Just ask my mom!"

"For the love of God, I'm not even _in_ the third season!"

Chris rolled his eyes. The complaining and the whining eventually died down, and finally, Chris began to speak.

"Alright, contestants…from now on, you will be referred to as 'patients'. You'll be staying here for the next few weeks."

"Where exactly is 'here'?" Beth questioned, huddling herself together, as if she were trying to hide herself. Chris gestured to his right, and twenty-two pairs of eyes followed his motions. Looming in the distance was a hippo of a building. It was made of brick, was about two or three stories high, and was wide as well. A chimney jabbed outwards, puffing out more smoke than the blue caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. (He probably has lung cancer—_don't smoke, kids_.)

"Why the hell is this necessary?" Duncan growled.

"Stop barring your teeth like that," Courtney snorted. She stood quite a ways away from the delinquent. "You're as threatening as a neutered Chihuahua."

"Guys, guys!" Chris cautioned, holding his hands up. "Trust me, the fighting will begin soon enough…try to save it for the institution."

"I take it our 'institution' is that elementary school over there?" Noah drawled, with a dubious expression.

"Yes, yes it is!" replied Chris, suddenly cheerful. "Now, these next few weeks are to repair everything that was broken last season—namely, to appease the fans. They're mad that most couples broke up, and that so many contestants hated each other at the end…as if it were _our_ fault, sheesh. So Chef and I are going to be your…your guidance counselors. Your therapists. We are here…for you." He stifled some laughter. "Yeah, okay, that was hard to say."

Suddenly, Chris got very, very serious.

"But remember," he warned. "I'm still the superior!"

"So you're still the host, basically?" Harold asked him.

"Yup."

"The host…that's funny," Harold mused, suddenly grinning. "Because I always thought of you as more of a parasite." He slapped his knee. "And _boom_ goes the dynamite!"

"How long it'd take you to come up with that?" Duncan questioned, clearly not amused.

Harold paused in the middle of his victory dance cucaracha. "Four months."

(**Confession Couch: Alliteration is key)**

** Harold—**"Wow, we have a whole huge room for our confessions this time? That's pretty considerate. And this couch, oh my God...can I just spend my four weeks in here, on this couch? Please?"

** Chris—"**Alright, so some people might want to use here to vent and swear. We're a fairly clean organization here, so some of the worse swear-words will be censored. However, the author would like you to know she's basically slamming her hand on the 'symbols' part of the keyboard. They really don't match up with any real swearwords."

**Duncan—**"Stop with the *&#!$&#!$& fourth wall breaks!"

**Chris—**"See what I mean?"

---

"Now then," Chris continued, getting down to business. "There are eleven rooms for girls, and eleven rooms for boys. As you might have guessed, this means…"

Groans came from the lot of them, and in unison they muttered:

"_Roommates_."

"Do we get a sign-up sheet?" Lindsay asked, bobbing up and down with hope. "With a hairclip and everything?"

"Hairclip?" Gwen wondered aloud.

"I think she means clipboard," Bridgette whispered to Gwen, throwing out a guess. "But I can't be certain."

"No," Chris replied, simply. "No sign-up sheet and no clipboard." Lindsay still looked excited. "No hairclip either, Lindsay." Her shoulders sagged. "Most rooms will have two people; two rooms will have three people. You were assigned roommates—at _random_…"

**(Confession Couch: Wishes it had a roommate.)**

** Noah—**"Random…right. And the people from Jersey Shore have a positive affect on society."

---

Grabbing their suitcases, and what little pride they had left, the twenty-two 'patients' trudged their way to the institution.

From the inside, it was rather resemblant to a hotel room. A giant chandelier hung from the middle of the room, donned with some fake-diamond-esque stone. The building was surprisingly simple and tidy. Dual wooden staircases were on each side of the lobby, leading up to hallways that split left and right.

The floors were carpeted and the white walls looked like they had been doodled on by fourth graders. Crayon stick figures and the like dominated them.

"Was this place ransacked by toddlers?" Katie giggled, observing the numerous scribbles.

"No, that was Chef," Chris answered.

No one pressed further.

The carpeted lobby broke off into a tile floor. Like the upstairs, it branched into two hallways that spread out a good distance. In the middle of it all were two huge double-doors, and the contents behind them remained a mystery. Chris made it loud and clear that until he said so, all the patients were forbidden to enter it. Owen tried to sneak in, and Chris threw a hardcover book at him. A thesaurus, actually. Chris told Owen to look up all the ways to say 'idiot', and that kept Owen occupied.

"Go upstairs, and unpack your things," Chris ordered, as soon as the patients had been done inspecting the nearby vicinity. "Girls are to the left, guys are to the right. Your rooms are labeled with your names."

The twenty-two teens were halfway up the stairs when Chris stopped them.

"Oh," he added, suddenly grinning. "You and your partner have to pick a name for your room. A team name, if you will. To build your creativity. Refuse to comply, and Chef will sit in your room and stare at you until you decide to give us a name."

Forty-four eyes bore their gazes into Chris's unfazed grin.

"Have fun!" He bade them, and that was all.

---

_((Gwen and Bridgette))_

"It's safe to say," Gwen announced, as she flopped onto her bed, "that I sincerely lucked out with you." Bridgette gave an agreeing nod, as she set her suitcase underneath her bed, opposite of Gwen's. Their room was the size of a hotel suite. In one corner was the bathroom, and near the entrance was a walk-in closet for the both of them. The room had two beds, side-to-side, and a desk with a TV on it in front of the beds.

To the right of the room was a large window that gave a view of, well…nothing. Nothing at all.

Noticing this, Gwen leered out the window, and questioned, "Hey, where _are_ we, anyways?"

Bridgette opened her mouth to respond, but closed it as soon as she realized:

"I…I don't think I know. We probably should've checked."

Gwen frowned. "That's gonna make escaping a lot more difficult." She smiled, amiably, at the blonde. "So, what have you been up to since TDA ended?"

Bridgette gave a mild shrug, as she resigned into a rocking chair placed near the window. "Nothing much, I suppose. School, friends, life."

"Ah, life," Gwen lamented, putting her hands behind her head, "how I miss mine. All I've gotten out of my Total Drama experience has been a bad rep and unwanted attention."

"I know what you mean," agreed Bridgette. The surfer wrinkled her nose, clearly distressed. "We're all over the internet. It's weird what situations they put us in."

A large thump distracted them both, and they jumped up. Little did they know, Duncan had just punched a hole in the wall and shouted something about running gags.

"Anyways," Bridgette continued. "Have you heard anything from…" she led off, hoping Gwen caught her drift. Gwen did, and looked away, suddenly feeling rather tired.

"No. I haven't heard from him."

---

_((Noah and Owen))_

Noah sat stolidly on his bed, reading a book, while Owen sat in the corner, still reading off entries in the thesaurus for 'idiot'. Despite Noah's constant pleads, Owen never quieted himself.

"Blockhead, bonehead, cretin, dimwit…"

"Shut up, Owen…"

"Dunce, fool, imbecile, kook…"

Noah slapped down his book, which was supposed to be a threatening sound but just made a sort of _FWAP_ noise.

"Owen," Noah said, slowly, "believe me when I say you are _all_ of those things."

"Muttonhead, ninny…"

Noah paused, considering beating Owen to death with his paperback Nicholas Sparks novel, but decided on something else:

"Hey Owen, what sound does a giraffe make?"

This quandary cattle-prodded Owen into silence, and Noah returned to his floozy romance novel.

"Besides," Noah muttered to himself, so quiet Owen couldn't hear him. "The encyclopedia would be a better weapon, anyways…"

---

_((Courtney and Katie))_

"Aw, yuck!" Katie groaned, as she opened up the chrome mini-fridge that sat in their room. "This is filled with stuff Chef baked. Wouldn't it be like, healthier for our mental health if we had, like, _edible_ stuff?"

"Yes, it would," Courtney replied, as she painstakingly refolded everything in her suitcase. "But there's a problem with that."

"What's that?"

"Chef can't cook."

"Oh. Right." Katie shut the door closed. "Any idea what our 'team name' should be?"

"It should be a strong name, a prideful one," Courtney declared, her hands on her hips in a Super-CIT pose of sorts. "Like, the 'Falcons', or the 'Lions'."

"Or the cougars!" Katie offered.

"Like the animal, or the old ladies?"

"Either one could rip you to shreds!"

Courtney nodded. "True. Katie, I must admit, I'm surprised at that you're not clawing at the door, sobbing for Sadie."

"Actually," boasted Katie, "I've grown up quite a bit, you wouldn't believe it. I'm not even wearing matching outfits with her anymore!" With a flourish, she motioned to her outfit. It was just as bubblegum-pop-whatever-that-label-was, but Courtney noted that it wasn't the same thing she had seen Sadie donning.

"Well…" Courtney frowned. "Aren't you still BFF…Q…L…Z…" she waved her hand, dismissively, "whatever that acronym was?"

"Duh," Katie replied. "We're just like, totally smarter now, and stuff." Courtney rolled her eyes at this statement, but it was missed by Katie. "Anyways, what about you? Over Duncan yet? I bet you're not, 'cause you two are like, totally made for each other!"

"Ugh," Courtney grumbled. "Yeah right. I'm so over that moron. I feel bad for whatever guy got stuck with him as a roommate."

---

_((Duncan and Harold))_

"It's getting awfully quiet in here…" Duncan observed, as Harold hang upside-down in the ceiling, cocooned in duct tape.

---

_((Cody and Trent))_

Cody and Trent arrived at their door at the same time, and the two attempted to maneuver themselves in an orderly fashion. They accidentally sandwiched themselves between the door frame, and Cody fell, face-first, into the room, while Trent apologized, flustered.

"It's okay, dude," Cody assured him, hopping up, and grabbing his suitcase. "Have a preference for which bed you get?"

"Not really, no," Trent replied, uncertainly, as he gave the room a look-over. Cody nodded, and threw his suitcase on the nearest bed. He then sat down on the mattress, and awkwardly twiddled his thumbs.

After a long silence, Cody volunteered:

"So, for our room name…_The Lonely Hearts_?"

---

_((Lindsay and Sadie))_

"So…" Lindsay mused, trying to strike up conversation with Sadie. She tapped her chin with a manicured nail. "How…are…you?"

"I'm fine," Sadie replied, uncertainly, as she hugged her knees. She sniffled a little. "Katie doesn't care that we're not in the same room though. Should…should that be bothering me?"

"Aw, don't worry about it, it's no big deal!" Lindsay cheered. "If you weren't in the same room as me, _I_ wouldn't care _either_!"

Sadie smothered her face with her pillow, and let out a small, aggravated scream. Lindsay just sat and stared at her, confused at why "Sacho" was so unhappy.

---

_((Izzy and Eva))_

As Eva entered the room, Izzy spun around in her chair, and faced Eva as she stroked an imaginary…animal…thing.

"I've been expecting you," Izzy crooned.

"Well, duh," Eva grumbled. "My name's on the door."

"_Irrelevant_!" exclaimed Izzy. "We're the two strongest people on this institution…and if there's one thing I've learned, it's how to escape from a facility like this. Together, we could be…unstoppable!"

She cackled, and threw her arms in the air. Then she frowned. "Oops. I think I just threw Marjorie Stewart-Baxter out the window."

"And who would that be?"

"My iguana-bear hybrid," Izzy responded, simply. "Anyways, are you in?"

"Eh," Eva replied, with a shrug, "I don't see why not." At least, Eva thought, she'd be able to smash something up. Izzy hadn't mentioned any smashing, but it was Izzy, so she could guess.

"_Excellent_!" Izzy cheered. "Let me just find my list of escape methods…"

---

_((Ezekiel and Tyler))_

"Are we the reject room?" Tyler questioned, looking gloomy as he unpacked his suitcase.

"You kinda just insulted me there, eh," Ezekiel pointed out. He paused. "But…probably…" Ezekiel sat down on his bed. "Are you still with that blonde girl…what's her name…?"

"Lindsay?" Tyler questioned. "Yeah, I am. You couldn't remember her name?"

"Can _she_ remember her name?" Ezekiel questioned Tyler, and then added, in his defense, "I didn't get a whole lot of time to meet people in the first season. And, I wasn't in the second season. Although I'm apparently in the third."

"Lucky," Tyler smirked. "Can you sing?"

"Can a convex mirror form a real image?" Ezekiel retorted.

Tyler gave the home-schooled teen a puzzled look. "Uh, can it?"

"No, it can't..." Ezekiel replied, almost sadly.

"Oh. Well, good luck then."

"Thank you."

---

_((Geoff, Justin, and DJ))_

"Okay, can I ask you something?" Geoff questioned Justin. "You didn't talk act all in the first season, and then second season you were like, the most talkative antagonist on the show. Why was that?"

"I had nothing to say," Justin replied. The three teens had a larger room than the others, which surprised them greatly. The bigger space accommodated their needs—something which was a delicacy in the Total Drama franchise.

"I don't know about you guys," DJ commented, "but I feel pretty good about this. I hate all the bad blood between us."

"Bad blood?" Geoff questioned. "That seems like a harsh term to me."

"It really isn't," Justin countered. "I hate all of you."

"Oh," Geoff said, unsure what to say to that.

The three of them stood in awkward silence, until DJ spoke up once more.

"So, yeah, I feel _really_ good about this…"

---

_((Beth, Leshawna, and Heather))_

_ …_

_ ((Leshawna and Heather aren't friends in this story. I apologize.))_

"This is un-freaking-believable!" Leshawna snapped, hands on her hips, glaring at her two other roommates. "Of all the people to get stuck with, I get stuck with you guys!"

"I-I-I'm sorry…" Beth stuttered, still hoping the room with _Monster House_ it and swallow her right up.

"Oh, don't apologize, geek," Heather growled at Beth. "Flirting with an ex is seriously not a big deal. This isn't freaking _Mean Girls_, here."

"Are you sure?" Beth whimpered.

"Do you see Lindsay Lohan traipsing around here?" Heather asked. "I don't think so."

"Well, we have _our_ Lindsay, and that's pretty close…"

"And you," Leshawna continued ranting, pointing a finger at Heather, "You think I've forgiven your meddling? Fat chance, sister!"

"Save your shouting for later," Heather muttered. "I've got a headache."

"Want some Ibuprofen?" Beth suggested, fishing in her backpack for said medicine. The two girls ignored her, and continued fighting. Beth waved her arms around frantically, hoping to catch their attention, but to no avail.

"And don't call me sister!" Heather was shouting. "If you were my sister, I'd poison your tea!"

"If you were my sister, I'd drink it!"

"_Stop stealing quotes from Winston Churchill_!" Beth warbled.

In the paraphrased words of Mark Twain, let's draw a curtain of courtesy over the rest of that scene.

* * *

The twenty-two campers were called to the lobby about twenty minutes afterward, and Chris got them all to sit down and shut up. The host stood behind a small podium placed in the space between the two staircases, and he started to speak.

"Alright," he began. "These are the team names you guys came up with, apparently…

"Gwen and Bridgette—'Gidget'. Combining your names…_that's_ original.

"Noah and Owen—'Tired'. Wait, seriously?

"Courtney and Katie—'Cherry Bombs'. You sound like a wannabe pop band.

"Duncan and Harold…on second thought, I would probably have to censor this. Moving on.

"Cody and Trent—'The Lonely Hearts'. I thought you guys were kidding when you said that.

"Sadie and Lindsay—'Lovely Overachieving Ladies Love Interesting People on _People_'. Should I even ask?"

"It spells _lollipop_!" Lindsay cheered, shooting up and pumping a fist in the air.

"Uh…Eva and Izzy—'Our Hats Look Like Muffins'. You're not even wearing hats, you guys."

"They're coming in the mail!" Izzy shouted. Chris rolled his eyes, but continued.

"Ezekiel and Tyler—'Bye'. Should I even ask?"

"It's a wrestling term!" Tyler explained. "It refers to when one member of a match has to give up or is unable to perform so the other member gets an automatic--"

"Yeah, I don't care," Chris interrupted. "Alright, Geoff, DJ, and Justin—'Cowboy Casanovas'."

"That's not the name we agreed on!" Justin wailed. He glared, accusingly, at Geoff. Geoff grinned in response.

"And finally, Heather, Leshawna, and Beth—'Help Me'." Chris lowered the sheet of paper with the names on them, and raised an eyebrow. "Help me?"

"Please!" Beth wailed.

"Nope," Chris responded. "Anyways, we've got our first activity that we're gonna do…Chef, if you'd please."

Chef came in from the double-doors, rolling in a bright purple rectangle. The rectangle was rather high, and as the teens craned their heads, they saw a ladder led up to the top of it.

"No, not the thousand foot fall," Chris mused, before the campers could ask. "Sadly, they don't make bright purple rectangles that big. No, this is more of a twenty-foot fall, and it's something that's called the 'Trust Fall'. One person will fall from the end of this, and they have to trust that the people below them will catch them. Got it?"

Some meager nods were given in response.

"Alright, Harold, could you come up here?"

Harold, just released from his duct-tape cocoon, did as he was told. He climbed up the ladder on the far side of the rectangle, and stood on the top.

"Alright," Chris instructed. "Now, you other twenty-one, you guys have to gather around him and catch him when he falls." Chris gestured for the other twenty-one teens to gather around Harold, and they did as they were told.

Harold turned around so his back was to them all, and once Chris shouted 'go', Harold dropped to the ground like a Thwomp.

Nobody made a move to catch him. Harold landed on the ground and stayed there, twitching slightly.

"Okay," Chris said, slowly. "Maybe you guys aren't quite getting the concept…"

**((Confession Couch—Slapstick goes THUMP in the night.)**

** Harold—**"If I die before this is done, all I ask is that you play 'Pants on the Ground' at my funeral."


End file.
